torstaina, tammikuuta 18, 2007

Ode to an Open Sewer in the Basement

a guest post by the illustrious Duchess

"It was brought to the Duchess' attention early Wednesday morning that her basement floor was covered in water. Upon gathering up her many skirts and descending into the bowels of her estate, the Duchess discovered that lo! 'Twas a veritable inundation of rank liquid, burbling up from a recess in the floor into which excess water is intended to DESCEND, NOT issue forth!

Multiple telephone conferences with the Landlady and the Landlady's plumber, "Merge" (yes, Merge) ensued.

The Landlady subsequently presented herself at the Duchess' chambers, around 7:00 in the evening. She accompanied the Duchess down to the lagoon in the basement, and hark! all the water had vanished!

In its place, there remained various bits of grime and suspicious-looking sediment.

As well as a medium-sized, rather plump and robust Turd.

Now, under normal circumstances, the presence of this Turd would have provided empirical evidence of one seemingly indisputable fact: that the previously mentioned Flood-Waters had issued from a Blocked or otherwise Impeded Sewer Pipe.

But herein lieth the mystery:

There exists a small metal grate over the drainage hole in the basement floor. Said plate doth have cavities through which water may pass, but said cavities are most indubitably too close together for a Rotund and Radiant Turd such as the one found Glistening on the floor next to the grate to issue forth whilst remaining Whole and Magnificent in its Roundness.

So the mystery groweth: From whence dost issue yon Turd?

Landlady and Duchess alike fell mute with wonderment.

"How could it be!" exclaimed the Duchess.

"From what rectum might it plunge to such depths?" intrigued the Landlady.

An awed silence descended upon the two fair maidens, punctuated only by the guttural noises of the Landlady's toy pug dog, Brioche, strangling itself whilst straining against its Leash in an attempt to Reach and Devour the Delectable Turd.

Finally a hushed voice cut the silence:

"Perhaps," said the Duchess in Low and Reverent tones, "Perhaps we have witnessed a Miracle!"

The Landlady nodded with the sobriety appropriate to such an Occasion.

"Perhaps," concurred the Landlady. "Or perhaps..." she mused quietly, "Perhaps you've been Visited."


"Yes. Visited. By Mr. Hanky The Christmas Poo!"


At 10:23 AM on the morning of Thursday, 18 January, the Sewage Surgeon calleth at the Duchess' door.

Upon descending into the Lower Regions, Duchess makes a most Riveting Discoverie:

Despite her best contraceptive efforts during the night, the Turd hast beene Fruiteful, and Vigorously Multiplied... All over the floor.

Whatever its Origins, the following must therefore be concluded: that in following the prescriptions of Genesis 1:28, this Fecal Emanation has shown itself to be something Special.

It is Holy Shit.

(The Surgeon has been fittingly Anointed before receiving authorization to snake the drainage pipe.)"


Blogger Zen Wizard said...

Merge cut me off entering the Interstate on the on ramp yesterday.

Needless to say, this was a "Great Moment in Irony."

10:46 ip.  
Anonymous Anonyymi said...

Zen, should the Good Lord deign to punish me by forcing me to relocate to The South in retaliation for past sins, the knowledge of your presence in the greater Atlanta metropolitan area would serve as a constant source of solace.

11:10 ip.  
Anonymous Anonyymi said...

I am delighted to have stumbled upon a post which reeks unashamedly of humanity.

This post is constituted of that special and profound material which dares to announce its name, and resolutely refuses to be flushed away.

I shall remember it always, like that first childhood ice-cream, which wouldn't have been complete without a liberal sprinking of chocolate flakes upon its creamy white exterior.

Dear Duchess, you have produced a thing of beauty, therefore its overnight fecundity should inspire, not downhearten. 'Tis nought a little sweet-smelling disinfectant has ne'er seen...

11:47 ip.  
Anonymous Anonyymi said...

Darling Winters:

Given that the use of the shower was quickly determined to be the single most important factor in the Gushing of Fecal Detritus across the basement floor, and that a Moratorium on Bathing was hence declared across the full Width, Breadth, and Pointy-ness of all my Great Realms...

Let's say that the reek of humanity has reached -- if not unprecedented -- undreamed-of dimensions in the last 24 hours.

Breathe deeply, my love. Through the nostrils.

If Fortune smiles upon thee, the sweet aroma may yet waft across the water and grace thee upon that other shore...

1:57 ap.  
Anonymous Anonyymi said...

it is heartening to know that our Lady Bonds is surrounded by those who truly know her, in phraseology, subject matter, and essence—though she is far away from us, here.

2:34 ap.  
Anonymous Anonyymi said...

Ah, my first visit to the estate, and I step right into the royal shit. Still, it is certain that it is a noble estate, and such a trifle inconvenience will not deter a future rendezvous. Thank you for the enlightenment today. You are a different card. I will call again.

5:13 ap.  
Blogger Lady Bonds said...

Zen; At what point were you on the "ramp" when "Merge" cut you off?

Duchess; as I have oft told you, there are indeed perks to living in The South (and The South-East). I hear Athens, GA is an interesting place to be.

Winters; your kind words are of no small value. Your own fecundity never ceases to be cause for amazement for your readers and admirers alike.

Duchess; The vividness with which you capture the malodor of your olid experience has led my thoughts to return to a certain journey thou hast made, once upon a time, with one dear to my heart.

Let it be known that excessive bathing is a curse upon our times, and that all those who seek wisdom and moderation--the middle path, perhaps?--will find solace in a respite from such indulgent and wasteful activity.

a; In actual fact, you and a certain other have exchanged geographical locations such that Lady Bonds finds the mental organisation of her camarilla momentarily constipated, so to speak. Metaphorically and blogophorically speaking, however, she is delighted at all of your presences, despite the recent fecal traffic jam brought to us by the duchess.

The Fool; Welcome to the picnic. The pleasure is all mine. We like cheese here, preferably the fetid kind. Unfortunately, I don't imagine much will be growing up in your parts, at least for the next few months. No matter, we'll send some wine up your way to get you through the winter. Either way, we sahll send the folk northward to keep you from having to shout in the dark.

A different card, perhaps. Zen Wizard is to thank for Lady Bonds' present face to the world; it was a gift. We shall meet again soon, Fool.

12:43 ap.  

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